A Tale of Revenge, As Told by Sebastian the Butler
by Mey-Rin of Phantomhive
Summary: OC Clara McMillan has recently been employed at the Phantomhive manor. While admiring the decorations, she notices an odd artifact. Sebastian notices her curiosity and proceeds to explain the story behind the strange device, a dark tale of feminine fury and revenge against a cruel lover. No shippings.


A/N: I like semicolons. Semicolons are cool.

This is a stand-alone portion of a story I plan to publish centered around an OC, Clara McMillan. This section of the story is not about Clara, but about a story Sebastian tells to her about another OC who is Ciel's grandmother. Also, this is not a Sebastian and Meylene story, um Seblene? It just has both of them in it. I'm publishing this to see if people like it, and then I'll publish the whole thing. More on that at the end, as I don't want to spoil this short story.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Black Butler characters; I do own Clara and the artifact mentioned... wait, NO! I DON'T OWN ONE OF THOSE! COME BACK!

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One day the butler caught me looking at a particularly eye-catching artefact displayed in the east wing parlour. It seemed to be a knife, though it had an odd shape in that it's blade was a circle – the metal protruded from the unpolished wood shaft only half a centimetre, then split into a perfect loop about five centimetres in diameter. Attached to the circular blade was a leather pouch, of all things. The pouch was about the size and shape of a coin purse. The odd features of the blade were not the only things that attracted me to it - it was the only piece of decoration above the mantel of the fireplace, suspended by iron props and encased in unadorned glass. I had no idea why, for I could not guess at its usefulness and wondered who would try to take it. When I examined the artefact up close, I could see the blade was entirely rust brown, and the satchel attached to it was discoloured all along the bottom and splatters of the same discolouration all around it, as much as I could see.

"Admiring the Cutlass, milady?" I knew it was the butler before I turned to him.

I smiled out of not knowing what to say. "It seems rather..." ill-placed, I thought, but that would have been rude, and inaccurate besides. "... important," I said simply.

His expression went from pleasantly smiling to expressionless, but the shift caused him to seem stern, "Do you recognize its function?"

I gave him a blank stare.

A small smile then, "Well, it is not a common tool. It was designed, and owned, by Abigail McCoy. She courted my master's great-grandfather. But that courtship ended quite unhappily for the young miss. He left her under the most distressing circumstances; in her eyes, at least, in that he had so little circumstance. He gave no reason for his leaving her other than that he was angry. Humm..." The butler was looking at me plaintively, then smiled quite pleasantly, "Forgive me, I am unsure how to proceed. It is a very perturbing one."

"Please, tell me over what he was angry with her?" This tale was so starkly like my own; I wondered what I might learn from it.

"It was a trifle. But, if you would like the story, perhaps you would like to take a seat."

I complied.

"Now, Hubert Phantomhive, for that was his name, was of a certain... uncommon character. He might have had an ailment of the mind. You see, he never seemed able to settle on a wife. Poor Abigail had not realized her number while courting him: it was eight. Quite a high number for a twenty-four year old, wouldn't you say? Even if he had started at sixteen, that would make one woman a year – but he was nineteen when he went on his first outing with a young lady. He could not stand to be alone, but became so agitated with any woman he got to know, be it over her opinions or her mannerisms – sometimes, it seemed, even her fondness of him. He wanted someone he deemed as clever as himself, no less or more so. He wanted an entirely subservient desert flower; but became frustrated when she did not stand up for herself and was too dependant. He knew what he wanted; but it was not any sort of thing he knew how to handle."

Indeed, this man did sound much like my ex-boyfriend, a couple of them.

"He did have the most agreeable character; well, you are familiar of course with the disposition of the young master, and if you were to see him as a suitor for yourself – a bit older, I would imagine – I am sure you would be able to visualize the charm."

I nodded, carefully, "I suppose. Well, don't all men with a dark heart have this very agreeable character?"

His expression was... unreadable, and yet he was smiling faintly. "How would any ills come to the fruition the devil would desire at the hands of a man without manipulative powers? Indeed, you speak the truth. He wooed poor Abigail so completely she thought him an angel. Abigail was naïve, merely nineteen years of age and had had no former suitor. In the end, however, she was not the one to be pitied – although her end was far worse than his. She sacrificed something she ought never have in order to slay her naïvetés: the pity that would have been due her." He stared silently for a moment at the Cutlass. "When Earl Hubert Phantomhive left her – ah, yes, it was over her visiting him. You see, she had found the content of one of his letters most dubious – I do not remember that detail, only that it seemed he had lied to her about something, a discrepancy between something he had said to what he seemed to have written. She merely needed him to explain his meaning to her, and the matter would have been cleared. As it was, she found the discrepancy in truth so alarming that she decided she needed to visit him over it. And he did not welcome her."

He paused then, so I interjected, "All ended, just like that."

"Well, not quite. That Master Phantomhive had thought her far too insecure and dependent. In a way, he was right; but the crime she thought she had found in him through that letter was quite severe, and more so considering her personal experiences; for she once had one whom she thought a dear friend commit the same atrocity of which she supposed him. She did not want to face that situation again, especially now that the culprit was her lover..." his voice trailed, then he cleared his throat, "That was certainly an additional factor in her distress," he smiled, "That affair was the main factor toward her demise: he had taken her innocence, and thus she deemed he was required to provide her with much more than the harsh dismissal to her impudence – he had not expended a single thought toward empathy, he had refused to consider the reasons behind her actions. He ordered her out before she could explain her logic. He only saw that she was angry at him for something he had not done, and that was enough for him. That is, in truth, quite an understandable position. But an unfortunate one. The whole mess could have been avoided..." his gaze wondered toward the Cutlass once more, "Miss McCoy had a very gentle and accepting demeanour; but she only blamed herself, her entire person, for the disaster that had befallen her. But not as much as she blamed him for his foul, unsympathetic character. She thought she would never see him again." He smiled in a way that seemed mischievous, "But she ran into him at market one day, and managed to persuade him to lay with her again," he paused, "I should not say she ran into him; she had arranged for the meeting, though he did not know it. She had already fashioned the Cutlass. Perhaps you might guess now at its purpose?"

I looked at it again, "It is so small. Did she... she harmed him with it?" _What part of the body might be best harmed with an encircling blade?_

"Remember: this was a most malignant breed of revenge, born from the worst betrayal. The closer you are to a person, the more they can hurt you; and this hurt inflicted with the arrow of apathy." _Surely, an appendage, like the nose, or the fingers_... "Also know she did not have a stomach for gore. The blade circles the interior of the knife, with the satchel attached around the outside edge. The blade is tipped with diamonds, if you might believe it, so as to make the job as quick as possible to an unyielding victim."

I knew, had hardly finished the thought when my hands shot to my lips to stifle a yelp-inducing gasp. How could I not have thought of it sooner?

"Oh, Sebastian, are you telling her 'at tale? Oh, but isn't it awful? Lopped it clean off, she did, right up to the 'ilt" it was Meylene who spoke; she had just entered the room, "Can you even believe it, it's," she gestured towards the blade, "_still in there!_" she clenched her hands to her face, "D'you think 'is ghost is 'aunting this room? D'you think 'e can 'ear me? Can you see ghosts, Sebastian?"

I thought that an odd question, but I took her to be speaking rhetorically. Sebastian shrugged, or I suppose he did because he shifted next to me.

Meylene continued then, "She thought it as 'ers from the day... Din't want no one else to 'ave it. It worked – no woman would see 'im after 'at stroke. Poor 'ubert."

"I'm sorry," I said, "But you said this is the Earl of Phantomhive's grandfather. How was the lineage continued after..." I didn't know how to finish that sentence.

Sebastian answered, "She was pregnant when she did the deed; though she did not know it. I doubt the knowledge would have swayed her from her path."

I paused for a while in thought over this tale. "It's so... bizarre. If he had just – let her go more – with more respect – yes."

"Ah, but you are making a flawed assumption, Miss McMillan," said Sebastian, suddenly very stern, "Abigail never gave him a chance to apologize, you see. The poor fellow was quite befuddled in his logic, and it is true at first he refused to listen to her, but when she did gain his ear she did not attempt to explain herself."

"Of course, she had tried before then, hadn't she? Sent him letters?"

"Ah!" Sebastian clasped his hands together, "You have her mind, I see. But of course she had; that is certainly one viewpoint: he had had his chance; he should have read the letters. But, you see, that was simply not his way. He was adamant in his decision, and had no idea he was ignoring some table-turning factors. She should have told him before..." he gestured at the artefact above the mantel, "... she maimed him."

"But she did not suppose he would listen."

"Yes. If she had known... that is all she needed, all it would have taken to change this sad history."

I considered all this. She had been wrong to harm him... he had been wrong to ignore her... "She just became so... _hell-bent_ on revenge."

I thought I saw a red light flash in his eyes at that, but his face was turned toward the mantel, "Oh, milady," he turned to me then, and his eyes certainly were etched in a crimson glow, "if you only _knew_."

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A/N: Thanks for reading. This was my first fanfiction. I hope you liked it; my sister did and she is an avid reader. I decided to write a Kuro fic because I had this really good idea for a revenge story that included a demon and Sebastian is already an established demon. Also, I was surprised how few Kuro fics deal with revenge, as that is the main theme of the anime/manga, and I think revenge is just so much richer when it is exacted on an old lover than on some faceless person who killed your parents, though it is still wrong... but will Clara realize that or will she follow her lust down the dark path to vengeance? I just thought my idea fit well within the Kuro universe. It will be about Clara taking revenge on her ex-boyfriend similar to the way Abigail does here, only - well, let's just say I wanted Abigail to castrate her ex because I saw that as really not that bad... so stay tuned for that!


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